


Just In Time

by afterthenovels



Category: Glee
Genre: AU, M/M, Meet-Cute, One-Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-16
Updated: 2013-08-16
Packaged: 2017-12-23 17:50:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/929355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterthenovels/pseuds/afterthenovels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Kurt is late for work and runs into someone - someone who might turn out to be something more than just a random pedestrian.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just In Time

**Author's Note:**

> This is once again one of those instances when I think that I'm just going to write something short and sweet - and then over 6,000 words later I stop and say, "Oops."
> 
> Inspired by Inez's tags [in this post](http://klaineactually.tumblr.com/post/47026015733/kurt-in-locations-ny). I saw them over four months ago and they've been stuck in my head ever since. And because I felt like writing something else for a change, I decided to write about them. So this is for [Inez](http://hearyoulaugh.tumblr.com), who makes the best fanmixes and is an overall lovely person. ♥

Kurt has been working for Vogue for a year now, and in that whole time he has never ever been late for work. Not even for a minute.

He has actually been a little bit early almost every day, and he’s proud of it, naturally – most of the other interns often scramble into the office with their hair and clothes in disarray fifteen minutes after the time they were supposed to come in, coming up with more and more lame excuses. The excuses are especially lame after weekends or other holidays, and Kurt sometimes thinks he should start writing them down, just in case he ever needs some blackmail material against his colleagues.

But of course he’s not that cruel. Even if Bill from accounting would kind of deserve it, with the way he complains about everything and anything and ogles the models like they’re nothing but pieces of meat.

Isabelle, Kurt’s boss and resident fairy godmother, often teases him about the fact that he seems to like his intern work more than the exciting student life he should be enjoying. She always says it fondly, with a twinkle in her eye, and Kurt just shrugs and smiles back.

It’s not that he doesn’t love NYADA – he does, it’s a dream come true and going to his classes fills him with an inexplicable joy that makes him want to dance through the streets of New York and embrace the whole city – but he hasn’t really gotten the hang of student life yet. He started his studies mid-year in January, and by then everyone else seemed to have their own cliques already, and Kurt felt like all he had time for was trying to catch up with the others and avoiding the people Rachel had advised him to avoid.

But that’s fine. He likes his job, he likes the extra bit of cash it brings. Besides, this is his first fall term at NYADA, almost like another beginning, and perhaps he can find some new friends in the new freshmen. Not that there’s anything wrong with Rachel and Santana, but he sees them enough already and has to practically listen to their arguments at least twice a day. It would be nice to have someone else, maybe even someone more than a...

No. Kurt’s not going to start daydreaming about that again. Last year he had been naive and thought that he would find love the moment he moved to New York, that things would be different in that regard as well, and when it hadn’t happened, when the New York boys he had met had turned out to be way too egotistic and cruel, he had spent several evenings with _The Notebook_ and a whole cheesecake from the nearest bakery, listening to the empty platitudes from Rachel and the crude comments from Santana.

He’s not that naive anymore.

It’s the first day of the fall term, first day of NYADA’s orientation week, but since Kurt already started his studies six months ago he decided to skip the introductory classes and take some more shifts at Vogue instead. He could always use some more money, and he will obviously have less time for his job when the classes start again. He might as well work a little bit more now.

So while all the freshmen are making their way to the campus, trying to find the right building and their own group, a lot like Kurt did in January, Kurt himself hitches his messenger bag on his shoulder and walks to the subway station for the first commute of the fall.

Except he doesn’t exactly walk.

He runs because for the first time since he started working for Vogue, he is late. So incredibly late.

Kurt curses under his breath as he rushes down the stairs to the subway station, barely dodging a woman with a baby and calling out a breathless apology over his shoulder. Somehow the battery of his phone had died during the night, which obviously meant that his alarm didn’t go off, and now his hair is a mess and he’s very thankful for his habit of plotting his outfits in advance. At least if he’s late he’ll do it wearing fashionable clothes.

(He barely had time to berate Rachel for not waking him up before he dashed out of the door of their apartment with a piece of toast practically hanging from his mouth.

“But I thought you said you weren’t going to attend orientation?” Rachel called after him.

“Yes – because I was going to work!” he yelled back and kicked the door closed behind him.)

The train pulls in the station and Kurt jumps in, barely remembering to check that it will actually take him where he wants to go. Then it’s several long minutes fidgeting by the door, alternating between fixing his hair and checking the time from the wristwatch he was forced to wear because his phone is still useless, and trying not to think about how late he is already.

Eventually, when Kurt is exactly twenty-one minutes and seventeen seconds late, the train stops at the right station. The doors have just opened all the way when Kurt is already jumping out, rushing past the other people and up the stairs into the street. He turns to run towards the Vogue offices, at the same time rummaging through his bag for the keycard that lets him into the building, and he’s not exactly looking where he’s going, trusting blindly that things can’t go any more wrong than they already are.

But of course today’s the day when he suddenly bumps into something, the collision sending him stumbling back several steps and making some of the contents of his open bag fall on the sidewalk.

“Oh my god, not _again_ ,” says a voice right next to him.

Kurt looks up. The something he ran into turns out to be a dark-haired boy who looks to be around the same age as him; a boy who is wearing a bright red cardigan over a gray polo shirt and a pair of dark jeans with turn-ups that reveal his ankles. It’s not something Kurt himself would wear, but it works for the boy surprisingly well. The boy’s hair is slicked back with too much gel, but in some way even that works for him – it makes him look even more like a movie star from another era, accentuating his long eyelashes and large eyes.

Eyes that are currently staring at the ground with obvious shock, and when Kurt looks back down he realizes that his things aren’t the only ones scattered between them on the street.

“I’m sorry,” the boy blurts out. He bends down and starts picking up things, starting with the contents of Kurt’s bag instead of his own. “Oh god, I’m _so_ sorry, I’m late and I wasn’t looking and I just completely ran into you like that and god, I’m so sorry...”

Kurt blinks. A part of him is ready to say something biting, just because he’s having the worst morning ever and he’s late and now he’s going to be even more late – but then the boy looks up, the expression on his face the epitome of mortification, and suddenly Kurt doesn’t feel like being mean anymore. He can see the color of the boy’s eyes in the bright early fall sunlight; they’re a lovely shade of honey or amber, and Kurt almost wishes he could find a scarf with the exact same color and then give it to the boy, make the beautiful color shine even brighter.

He shakes his head to clear his thoughts and crouches down to help the boy. “It’s fine,” he assures. “I’m the one who should apologize, to be honest. I wasn’t exactly looking where I was going either.”

The boy lets out a soft laugh and arranges all of Kurt’s papers into a neat pile before he hands them back to him. “I’m new here, but I have to say you’re being a lot nicer than all the other people I’ve run into today,” he says with a self-deprecating smile.

“Oh, that’s New York for you,” Kurt replies airily, stuffing his green notebook back in his bag. “I hope the city hasn’t completely put you off by now?”

The boy finally seems to realize that most of his own things are still on the ground and starts picking them up, smiling his thanks when Kurt helps him. “Uh, no, definitely not,” he says and scrunches up his nose adorably. “The people have been kind of rude, I’ve gotten lost at least five times so far and I’m horribly late from my first college class ever, but it’s... It’s still New York, you know?”

Kurt stops and looks up, surprised by the pure excitement and happiness in the boy’s voice. Their eyes meet, and Kurt realizes how close to each other they actually are, so close that he can see the way the corners of the boy’s eyes crinkle up when he smiles, the way he looks stressed and tired and has bags underneath his eyes but is still smiling like this is the best day of his whole life. Kurt knows that feeling; he had it himself about a year ago when he moved to New York and everything was so new and confusing and wonderful, and sometimes an echo of that same feeling still sneaks up on him when he’s walking home from his classes or getting coffee from his favorite coffee shop – the feeling of being here, of having finally made it. Of being in the right place for the first time in his life.

He has never found the exact same feeling in anyone else before. Not even in Rachel.

He smiles shyly back at the boy, and the boy’s own smile widens, their hands hovering over the last few items on the street, and Kurt is about to ask what the boy’s name is, perhaps even ask for his phone number because really, this is New York, things like this must happen here all the time, two strangers bumping into each other and finding they have something in common – but then his eyes flick down and he sees the simple wristwatch the boy is wearing. Most importantly, he sees what time it is.

“Oh crap,” he swears in a low voice. He’s over thirty minutes late; he’s never going to hear the end of this from the other interns – Kurt Hummel, Mr. Perfectly-On-Time-Every-Single-Day, is late for once in his life, and of course he’s not just late for a few minutes, he’s spectacularly late, and god, hopefully Isabelle won’t be too disappointed in him.

The boy frowns and follows his line of sight. “Oh crap,” he repeats, reaching out and stuffing the last few papers in his messenger bag, not apparently even caring that the papers get a little balled up in the process. “God, I’m so late.” He gives out a laugh. “I can’t believe this is actually the way I start my college life.”

Kurt stands up, straightening his own bag and running his fingers carefully through his hair. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m so late as well. Let’s hope my boss won’t fire me for this,” he jokes.

The boy’s eyes widen. “Oh god, I’m sorry. And here I am, just keeping you from getting to your work...” He steps aside, gesturing for Kurt to continue on his way.

Kurt hesitates. He doesn’t know this boy, doesn’t even know his name, but a part of him wants to skip work and get coffee with him, make up some lame excuse for Isabelle and find out what the boy’s eyes would look like when he laughs for real, when he talks about whatever it is that he’s studying, wants to watch the movement of the boy’s hands for a few more minutes. But then he sees a woman walking past them, carrying the newest issue of Vogue, and it’s like the universe is giving him a reminder. He knows he can’t just skip work. He loves his work. Maybe this is some part of the New York City lifestyle he hasn’t seen yet either – that sometimes cute boys with honey-colored eyes are just that and nothing more. Perhaps being a silly romantic doesn’t pay off in the city that never sleeps, not when he has work to do and the other person has classes to get to.

“Thanks for helping me with my stuff,” Kurt finally says lamely, gesturing at his bag.

The boy waves his hand in the air. “Oh, no problem, thanks for helping me. And again, I’m sorry for bumping into you like that.”

He sounds genuinely sorry, and Kurt can’t help but smile. “Like I said, it’s okay. I’m sorry for bumping into you as well.”

“It’s okay,” the boy repeats with a grin, but then his smile falters. “Um. I really have to go now,” he adds, and it almost sounds like he doesn’t want to leave either. Or maybe Kurt is just imagining things. “Good luck with your work?” the boy offers.

“Thanks,” Kurt replies. “And good luck with your college stuff! I hope your day will be better from now on.”

The boy laughs, taking a few steps away from Kurt. “Yeah, I hope so too. I really do have to go now, so it was, um, nice meeting you!”

“You too,” Kurt says and gives a small wave. “Welcome to New York!” he realizes to shout after the boy, and he watches with a smile as the boy glances at him over his shoulder one last time and laughs, the morning sunlight catching on the gel in his hair and making it shine a little brighter. It’s like a scene from a movie, or from a photoshoot, and a part of Kurt wants to call after the boy, no matter how silly it would be.

He is still staring after the boy with his hand raised in a wave when the boy disappears into the crowd of people around the subway station sign, blending into the bustle of the city. Kurt forces himself to snap out of it, glances at his watch and curses once again. He is definitely late. He turns on his heels and starts jogging towards the Vogue building, the memory of the boy getting buried under the thoughts of work and Isabelle and the other interns, even though it feels like it will take days before Kurt forgets the way the boy’s smile seemed to light up his entire face.

Naturally Bill from accounting happens to be in the lobby when Kurt runs through it to the elevators. He grins at Kurt like the cat that caught the canary, and Kurt contemplates flipping him off or offering a biting remark, but in the end he decides it’s not worth it. He’s been working for Vogue for a year and this is the first time he’s been late – surely Isabelle can let this one slide? It’s hard to picture her getting too upset about something like this, especially when people like Bill are late at least twice a week.

He makes it to the right floor and rushes into Isabelle’s office, starting to apologize profusely the moment he steps through the door. Isabelle startles behind her desk, looking up at Kurt with her eyes wide in surprise.

“Gosh, that was quite an entrance,” she comments, standing up and looking Kurt up and down. “Are you alright, Kurt? You look a little flustered.” She reaches out to pat his shoulder.

“I’m late,” Kurt says miserably. “And I’m so sorry; I know I haven’t been late before and I promise this is just the one time, but my phone died and then I bumped into someone when I was coming here and –”

“Kurt, breathe!” Isabelle laughs. “It’s alright. I noticed that you were late but I knew you’d have a good reason for it. I was just worried that something worse had happened.”

Kurt sighs. “No, just an unfortunate incident with my phone and another unfortunate incident with an innocent bystander on his way to college.”

(Except that stubborn part of him, the silly romantic inside of him, wouldn’t call bumping into the boy unfortunate at all. Quite the opposite, in fact.)

Isabelle must see something in his eyes because she tilts her head and smiles. “Was he cute?”

Kurt bites his lips and looks away, his hand unconsciously tightening around the strap of his bag. “Um...”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Isabelle concludes and squeezes his shoulder with the mischievous twinkle back in her eye again. “Alright, your desk is waiting for you. Go. Feature editors’ meeting in half an hour.”

Kurt exhales in relief. “Thank you. I promise I won’t be late again.”

“If it happens because of a cute boy, that’s alright,” Isabelle teases. “Just text me to let me know so I won’t worry. Now shoo, you have work to do.”

Kurt slinks out of Isabelle’s office with a grateful smile and makes his way to his own desk, deliberately not meeting the eyes of the other interns and keeping his head up high. There are a few papers waiting for him on his desk, and he flicks through them while he waits for his computer to boot up. One of the papers has a few dates and addresses in it that he should probably write down so he can find them in the future, and he starts digging through his bag for his green notebook. He usually writes everything and anything important in that notebook, as well as just things that pop up in his head, such as plans for new outfits and a few of his own designs.

The contents of his bag are a mess because of his collision with the boy, and Kurt has to practically empty all of them on his desk before he finally finds his notebook. He makes a triumphant noise and flips the notebook open on a random page, expecting to see his own writing covering the pages.

Instead he is met with an unfamiliar, flowing handwriting, written neatly from side to side and top to bottom, different sections of the text separated clearly by empty space between them. Kurt blinks, and turns a few pages. He finds more of the same writing, some of the sentences underlined with precision, and even a few handwritten pages of sheet music. When he looks at them a little better he notices that as far as he can tell they are arrangements – songs traditionally sung by women arranged again for a male voice.

On one page he finds a sentence written in big, bold letters: “ _NOTE TO SELF: Raspberry hair gel and chlorine are not a good mix! (Wes said I smelled gross.)_ ”

Kurt lets out a confused laugh and turns the notebook over in his hands. Now that he looks at it more closely he can clearly see that it’s not his notebook – the color is almost the same, but this one has rounded corners, whereas Kurt is positive that his has straight ones. The pages of this one are also lined, while Kurt’s notebook has blank pages so he can draw in it.

The notebook must belong to that boy he ran into earlier in the morning, and Kurt flicks the notebook on its first page, smiling at the few doodles of bowties he catches in the process. There is no address or a phone number, but the name _Blaine_ is written on the corner of the first page with the same neat handwriting.

The boy is called Blaine.

Kurt stares at the notebook. It suddenly feels heavy, as if he’s holding the whole essence of the boy, of this Blaine, in his hands – and if he has the boy’s notebook, that means that the boy must have his, with all of his sketches of different outfits and lists of his favorite Lady Gaga songs, everything he has written down during boring classes and important Vogue meetings; and now this Blaine, the boy with a wide smile and beautiful eyes, has Kurt’s notebook. Practically his whole life.

His own notebook doesn’t even have his name on it because he always carries it with him and has never lost it. And with just the boy’s first name he has no way of getting his notebook back, no chance of meeting the boy again, and for some reason that makes Kurt feel a little bit sadder than the fate of his trusted notebook.

 

\---

 

“What’s that?” Rachel asks that night as she’s making them some tea.

Kurt has been staring at the notebook for the last fifteen minutes, flipping through its pages and sometimes smiling at the things Blaine has written in it. Apparently Blaine has used his own notebook just as much as Kurt has used his – as a combination of a diary, a calendar and a general journal, with simple drawings, shopping lists and sheet music sprinkled in between – and the way he writes about the things he has seen in New York reminds Kurt of the way he felt during his first months in the city: how everything just seemed so huge and wonderful, even if he hadn’t gotten into NYADA yet and was still trying to find his own place at Vogue.

He sighs, closes the notebook and looks up at Rachel. “I bumped into someone this morning and both of our things fell on the street. This –” he gestures at the notebook, “– actually belongs to that boy, but I accidentally took it and he must’ve took mine.”

Rachel’s eyes widen. “Oh, Kurt, that sounds like the beginning of a romantic comedy!” She claps her hands. “Was he cute? Have you called him yet? You could set up a date and return the notebook and you two would start talking and –”

Kurt shakes his head. “I don’t know his number. I only know his first name.”

Rachel stares at him, obviously waiting for him to continue.

“It’s Blaine,” Kurt adds, feeling the blush on his cheeks.

“Blaine,” Rachel repeats, sitting down next to him at their kitchen table with a dreamy sigh. “Oh, even his name sounds like it’s from one of those old-fashioned romances.”

Santana walks into the kitchen from the living room where she has been flipping through a magazine. “You two are so gross with your romantic comedies and meet-cutes,” she scoffs, snatching her keys from the table. “I can’t deal with this. I’m going out, and by the time I get back I really hope you two have stopped talking about this guy like two old maids.”

“Excuse me for being excited about Kurt having a chance at romance!” Rachel yells after her, but Santana only laughs and slams the door closed behind her. “Ugh, ignore her. She’s just bitter that Brittany hasn’t called her for a few weeks,” she adds and rolls her eyes, giving Kurt his cup of tea and leaning forward. “Now, tell me. Was he cute?”

Kurt looks down at his tea, considering his words. “He was... He was gorgeous, Rachel,” he admits with a small smile. His cheeks feel hot, but he blames it on the tea.

Rachel squeals. “I knew it!”

“And he was so polite,” Kurt adds, sighing and leaning back in his chair. “He helped me pick up my things and kept apologizing, and god, his eyes! They were this lovely shade of brown, and when he smiled...”

“Yes?” Rachel urges.

“He said he was new to the city, and the way he said it...” Kurt pauses, looking at the notebook in front of him on the table.

From everything he has read from Blaine’s notebook, he knows that they seem to have enough in common to at least be possible friends. He’s aware that it wasn’t exactly right or kind to read through someone else’s notebook, but he was curious, and after he read the first few lines he just had to read everything, had to find out everything he could about Blaine. If it’s possible to develop a crush on someone only through the written word, Kurt is well on his way to crushing on Blaine, and he wants to meet him again, wants to talk about the things he has read about in Blaine’s notebook, talk about this wonderful city they both have managed to move in to, about the surprising rudeness of native New Yorkers that can end up as cracks in your heart.

Only after one brief conversation and the day he has spent with Blaine’s notebook, Kurt already knows that he doesn’t want Blaine’s heart to get cracks. He wants to see his smile again, see the way his face lighted up when he talked about being in New York, wants to be the one who makes Blaine light up as well.

But he doesn’t even know Blaine’s last name. Doesn’t know if he’s gay, doesn’t know what he’s studying, doesn’t know practically anything except the way his handwriting curls over the pages of the notebook and makes Kurt feel things he has never really felt before – or at least makes him feel them more strongly than ever before.

It’s... almost scary. Perhaps the silly romantic part of him is stronger than he thought.

“The way he said it reminded you of yourself?” Rachel interrupts his thoughts. Kurt startles and turns to look at her, surprised when he sees the fond smile on her face.

“What...” He swallows. “What do you mean?”

Rachel leans her elbow on the table and rests her head in her hand. “The way you were talking about him just sounded a bit similar to the way you used to talk about New York and NYADA and Vogue before you reached those dreams.”

Kurt blinks at her. “I don’t understand.”

“Kurt,” Rachel says, drawing out his name. “It’s okay to have a crush on a cute guy you ran into. Just because the guys you met last year turned out to be idiots doesn’t mean every boy you meet in New York is going to be an idiot. This Blaine guy sounds really nice.”

Kurt lets out a laugh. “I don’t even know him.”

“But you want to,” Rachel counters, taking a sip of her tea. “I mean, I know you have basically reached many of your professional dreams by now, as have I...” She preens a little, pushing a lock of hair from her shoulders, and Kurt smiles. “But you deserve to fall in love as well, Kurt. You deserve to find a nice guy who will love you and give you all those things that are still missing from your life.”

“Who on earth are you and what have you done with our resident diva?” Kurt says, shaking his head in amusement.

“I just want to see you happy, Kurt,” Rachel says, poking him on the shoulder.

“So I should just go out with a random stranger that happened to bump into me when I was late for work?” Kurt comments dryly.

“You did say that he seemed nice,” Rachel points out. “And you seem to have some things in common, right? Besides, what’s the worst thing that could happen? He turns out to be straight and you might get a friend instead of a boyfriend?”

“I still don’t know how to find him,” Kurt says, still confused by Rachel’s sudden adamant outburst.

“Have you tried Facebook? Or Google?” Rachel’s eyes are sparkling, and it’s something that Kurt has previously seen in her eyes only when she’s talking about Barbra Streisand or glee club solos. It’s a bit scary.

“There must be hundreds of Blaines in New York, Rachel,” he reminds her. “A first name is not exactly a lot to go on. And seriously, why are you so obsessed about this?”

“Because...” Rachel bites her lip and snatches the notebook from the table, waving it in front of Kurt’s face. “Because when you were talking about this Blaine guy you were smiling in a way I have never seen you smile before. And I want to see you smile like that more often, and perhaps it would happen if you met Blaine again and got to know him.”

Kurt’s lips turn into a fond smile. “Rachel Barbra Berry. If I was straight and we were dating, I’d be honored to call your amazing heart mine,” he jokes.

Rachel grins. “I know.” She pats her shoulder. “But you’re gay, so you’ll have to settle for Blaine. Or some other boy you bump into on the street.”

Kurt snatches the notebook back from her and laughs.

 

\---

 

Kurt does try Facebook and Google, but he was right – there are way too many Blaines in New York City, and even though he scans some of the Facebook profiles he can find, none of the men in the photos look like the Blaine he ran into. He keeps rereading the notebook, trying to find some other clues about Blaine’s identity, but the only thing he knows is that Blaine has just moved to New York and likes singing, music, bowties and writing down random observations about the things he has seen. There are no mentions of any particular colleges in the notebook, no addresses or numbers, and the only names mentioned on its pages, some people called Wes and David and Cooper, aren’t exactly of help.

Santana rolls her eyes at him, and Rachel tries to come up with more and more elaborate plans, but when a week has passed and Kurt hasn’t gotten any closer to returning the notebook and meeting Blaine again, he’s starting to think he should just give up. Obviously the universe is trying to tell him that it’s a lost cause; that Blaine will always be just some boy he bumped into, someone whose notebook accidentally got swapped with his and that’s the end of it. Perhaps he was right all along: being a silly romantic doesn’t seem to pay off in the real world.

“Maybe you should hire a private investigator?” Rachel suggests late that Sunday when they’re all curled up on the couch and watching reality shows.

“Oh my god, Berry, you can’t be serious,” Santana moans.

“I think I’ll just give up,” Kurt says, looking down. “I mean, it’s pretty clear that I’m never going to find him and get my own notebook back.” He shrugs. “That’s just how life goes.”

Rachel looks at him with sad eyes, and even Santana nudges his shoulder gently. His friends are far too invested in his personal life, but Kurt has to admit that the support feels nice. He never really knew Blaine, but the realization that he’s never going to see him again still feels a lot like losing a friend. Though maybe this is for the best. Now he can keep the image of Blaine that he had in his head, and never meet the real person and get his hopes crushed. It sounds a bit pathetic, but well, that’s just how things go sometimes.

The next day Kurt has his first class of the semester, and he makes his way to the campus early in the morning all on his own. The days are still warm, but the wind feels a bit colder already, a touch of fall in the air, and Kurt can barely wait for the weather to turn chilly so he can start wearing scarves and more layers again. Rachel has an afternoon class, but Kurt doesn’t mind being alone; he knows the NYADA campus by now, knows the different buildings, and even though he’s not that close with any of his classmates he does know most of them, so he won’t probably have to sit alone.

His first class is actually a lecture meant for freshmen on the history of Broadway, a class that’s only available during the fall term and therefore one of the few first year classes Kurt hasn’t taken yet. He checks that he’s in the right building on his phone, which has a full battery this time, and starts to climb the stairs to the correct floor, smiling a hello to a few students that pass him by whom he remembers from his last year’s classes.

He is just slipping his phone back in his pocket when someone bumps into his shoulder, startling him out of his thoughts.

Kurt hears the person offer a polite apology and freezes. He would recognize that voice anywhere; it’s the voice he has heard inside his head when he has been reading the notebook and when he has been wondering how it would sound like when the person it belongs to is singing.

“Blaine?” he gasps out, turning to stare at the person who is by now a few steps below him on the stairs. It’s a boy, a boy with dark, gelled hair and broad shoulders, and when he stops and turns around to look at Kurt, Kurt is met with a pair of beautiful hazel eyes.

After the long week he’s had, it almost feels like the sight knocks the breath out of him.

“Do we know...” Blaine starts, but then his eyes widen. “Oh. Oh! It’s you!”

Kurt blinks, swaying a little under the sudden onslaught of feelings. “You... You remember me?”

“Of course I do,” Blaine answers, and suddenly the polite smile on his face turns into a genuine, wide grin. “Wait, I think I have something of yours...” He rummages through the messenger bag slung over his shoulder and pulls out a green notebook. “I assume this is yours? I know I can’t draw outfits this well.”

Kurt blushes and takes the notebook hesitantly. “You looked at them?”

“Oh. Um.” Blaine actually shuffles his feet, and Kurt can already feel the blush rising on his own cheeks. “I’m sorry. That must seem a bit creepy,” Blaine continues, flashing a smile. “But I thought it was my notebook and when I opened it during my class last week I saw those sketches and... You’re really talented.”

Kurt ducks his head with a small smile. “It’s Kurt,” he says.

“Excuse me?”

“My name. I’m Kurt.”

Blaine’s smile widens, if that’s even possible, and he holds out his hand. “Kurt,” he repeats, and the way he pronounces the name is inexplicably soft and tender. “It’s nice to finally have a name to go with the handwriting. I’m Blaine.”

Kurt takes his hand and shakes it. Blaine’s handshake is firm but not too tight, and when they let go, Kurt can feel his fingers wanting to keep holding on.

“I know,” he admits. “I... I took a look at your notebook as well.” He fishes Blaine’s notebook out of his own bag and gives it to him. “The song arrangements you wrote here are brilliant.”

Blaine chuckles and takes the notebook back, cradling it in his arms. “So we’ve both been carrying these notebooks around for a week and now we just happen to bump into each other again? What are the odds?” he wonders.

“Are you a student here or...?” Kurt can’t help but ask, tilting his head.

“Yep, a freshman,” Blaine answers, bouncing a little on his feet. “I was trying to find the right classroom for the History of Broadway, but I think I’m a bit lost. Again.”

“I have the same class!” Kurt exclaims, a warm feeling spreading in his chest. “I’m actually a sophomore, but I just couldn’t take this class last year because it wasn’t available.”

Blaine stares at him, his mouth open in surprise. “R-really? So we... We actually attend the same college?”

Kurt smiles, feeling bashful all of a sudden. “It seems like it.”

“Wow,” Blaine breathes out. He’s staring at Kurt with a weird look in his eyes – it looks almost amazed, and Kurt feels his own heart stutter at the sight of it.

It’s hard to believe that he spent a whole week desperately looking for Blaine, only to run into him again on his way to class – but there Blaine is, real and apparently with all the time in the world, standing right in front of him with his beautiful eyes and his kind smile, and this time Kurt is not going to let him slip away without at least getting to know him a little better.

He is just opening his mouth to ask if he can sit next to Blaine in class, or if he’s busy after the lecture, or anything, but Blaine beats him to it.

“Do you want to get coffee?” he blurts out, staring at Kurt. “With me, I mean. After this class. If you’re not busy.”

Kurt blinks. Blaine fidgets in front of him, looking nervous and hopeful at the same times, and suddenly Kurt realizes that perhaps he’s not the only one who has spent the previous week trying to find the boy he bumped into when he was late. Perhaps he’s not the only one who feels that there could be something right here; a chance for something bigger between them on this staircase in this city they both adore.

Perhaps being a romantic is not that silly after all.

“I’d love to,” he says softly, smiling at Blaine. “But only if I can sit next to you in class and complain about the professor’s atrocious clothes to you,” he adds, winking.

Blaine laughs and ducks his head. “That sounds... Just, yes. Absolutely.”

Kurt feels like preening a little, but he controls the urge. “You do know that you’re going the wrong way though?” he asks. “The classroom is upstairs.”

“Oh shoot,” Blaine says and scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. “I’m still not used to the size of this city. I keep getting lost.”

“Well then,” Kurt sing-songs, and after a moment’s hesitation he boldly holds out his hand for Blaine. “I can be your guide so you won’t get lost again.”

Blaine looks up, surprised, and then a slow, gorgeous smile spreads over his lips, lighting up his whole face in a way that Kurt has been daydreaming about for the past week.

“That’d be great,” Blaine admits and takes Kurt’s hand. His fingers are soft and warm, sending a small thrill through Kurt’s arm.

“Come on then,” Kurt says, looking away to hide his blush and pulling Blaine after him. “I want to get good seats.”

Blaine laughs and follows him up the stairs. “I have to admit though,” he adds after a moment, “that getting lost does sometimes pay off.”

Kurt looks at him over his shoulder and grins, feeling butterflies in his stomach for the first time in years. The butterflies have never felt this huge, and that must mean something. Something... extraordinary.

“It really does pay off,” he says and laces his fingers with Blaine’s. “Being late seems to have the same effect as well.”

Blaine laughs, and this time Kurt is sure he gets to hear that sound again.

 

\---

 

 **From Kurt Hummel:**  
Remember when you said I should text you to let you know if I’ll be late?  
This is me letting you know that I might be late for the afternoon shift today.

 **From Isabelle Wright:**  
Oh my god. Is he cute?

 **From Kurt Hummel:**  
The cutest. :)

 **From Isabelle Wright:**  
You have my permission to take the whole day off.


End file.
